


Out Of Coffee

by gaymabelpines



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Trans Fiddleford H. McGucket, Trans Grunkle Ford, anyway this is lowkey sappy so sorry not really tho, first time writing romance heyoo, good good gay scientists, its more so abt them starting to date but they r trans, the rating is for like one curse word dont worry, this was for a prompt thing on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 00:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11324811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymabelpines/pseuds/gaymabelpines
Summary: It's never too early in the morning for romantic confessions





	Out Of Coffee

“I have to tell you something,” said Ford.

Fiddleford McGucket stopped in the doorway of their shared kitchen, still rubbing bleary eyes, having just gotten up and gotten dressed. It was fairly early in the morning- the sun streamed through the windows, gentle and warm. The gentle scent of spring flowers wafted in through the partially cracked window. A few birds (at least, he hoped they were birds- you could never be sure in Gravity Falls) sang outside, and his research partner was awake and at the kitchen counter, with two empty mugs. Stanford I Never Sleep And When I Do It’s For An Entire Week Pines was up before him, which usually meant that he had been up all night and didn’t sleep at all. Great.

He strolled over to the kitchen table, which was covered in various papers with mathematical equations, inane conspiracy theories, the occasional triangle, and illustrations that Ford had done of the miscellaneous flora and fauna of the woods of Gravity Falls. He cleared himself a little spot to put his breakfast later, and sat down. 

“What is it? I hope that it’s that you got a full night’s sleep and woke up at a decent time,” he said dryly. He honest to god loved that man, but he also knew that this same man was a disaster area in a trench coat. Somehow that only heightened the appeal, seeing as he was also a bit of a disaster area. (So he built death robots to cope with negative feelings that he should probably see a therapist for? Everyone has their quirks.)

“Uh, well,” Ford’s feet shuffled. It’s evident that he didn’t think he’d get this far, but with what exactly Fiddleford wasn’t so sure. “We’re out of coffee,” he stated blankly, and snapped his mouth shut, eyes weirdly wide and staring at Fiddleford. Was that sweat on his forehead?

Fiddleford sighed- he assumed that Ford was feeling guilty about having probably drank it all to fuel his midnight research. “It’s alright, sugar,” Fiddleford started (Ford blushed at the nickname a little- the first time Fiddleford let it slip, he passed it off as a southern thing, and fortunately his research partner believed him, despite his beet red face and stuttering. He didn’t notice that Ford was blushing as well), “We can survive one morning without it- I can run into town later and pick some up. I do need more supplies for various projects, anyway. Some copper wire, maybe a new wrench…..” his thought trailed off, and he began to list a few more supplies, looking through the scattered notes on the table, searching for a blueprint. The other man sighed, seemed to relax a little bit, returning to the mugs on the counter. 

Ford opened up one of the cabinets, searching for hot chocolate packets. Letting out a sigh, he acknowledged that he chickened out once again, and instead of thinking about it he decided to busy himself. While he knew that the caffeine of chocolate was not much compared to a good ol fashioned cup o’ joe (lots of sugar and creamer for him, only two sugars for Fiddleford), it still could give the two scientists enough caffeine to get…. well, more caffeine. He absentmindedly wondered if this was an addiction, and if so, a bad one. 

Fiddleford focused on the papers on the counter, having less of a dependency on caffeine than Ford. He searched through, looking at various blueprints, and took a random sheet which he flipped over to it’s blank side in order to make a list. It’d been awhile since either of them had been into town, and he was sure that a few of the rumors that he had picked up last time about the two scientists living in the woods had only grew. Now, Fiddleford had grown up in a small, southern town, and thought that he knew how fast and how wild rumors get (old church ladies had more, ah, imaginative minds than one would usually think), but the citizens of Gravity Falls took it to another level. He scratched a few more items on the list- coffee, some engineering supplies, and also a reminder to pick up some more hormones. Setting the pen down with a small sense of pride at having a good plan, he decided to turn the paper over to see exactly what it was on the other side, and gasped softly.

It was some flowers- carnations, if his gardening knowledge served him right. They were a few studies, something that Ford did to make his drawings and observations of the local flora more accurate. Fiddleford remembered different moments of watching Ford draw, the softness in his voice when he talked about different artistic techniques, how his eyes would look at Fiddleford’s intently, how the pencil and graphite and ink would smudge his six-fingered hands. His eyes roamed over the scrap piece of paper, looking fondly over the drawings and the notes that littered the margins around them. They were little things- a mathematical equation, a bit of code, a heart-

-wait, a heart? Fiddleford wasn’t one to pry, now, but he also wasn’t one to not satisfy his curiosity. It was a tiny heart, barely taking up an inch. The writing inside was even tinier- but if he squinted and put the paper up close, he could just about see what it said……

The milk had finished boiling on the stovetop, and Ford was just about ready to pour in the cocoa packets when he heard a loud exclamation of “SHIT” behind him, and nearly jolted out of his skin. He whipped around, and saw that Fiddleford had on of the papers close up to his face, his hand clasped over his mouth, face a bright, flaming red. Fiddleford turned to him, clearly embarressed.

“I…. er, I meant to say ‘sugar,’ but, ah, I was so startled that uh, oh,” he was speaking fast, clearly flustered about something. Confusion sparked in Ford’s mind- what did he see? The nervousness came next. He started shuffling his feet again. He peered over at the paper- oh, it was just some of the carnations that he drew. Well, that wasn’t too big of a concern, Fiddleford knew that he enjoyed illustration, and-

Oh. Oh no. Oh dear Nikola Telsa. The heart. The heart he drew with his and Fiddleford’s initials inside of it like a lovesick schoolboy. 

“I love you,” he blurted, because at this moment he was running on- what, 2? 3, if he was being generous, hours of sleep, and he also figured that there was no way he could make this situation worse. 

Fiddleford got redder. “I- er-”  
“I-I had a crush on you during our days in college,” Ford continued. It’s like the words didn’t stop at this point- he wasn’t sure if it was helping him or making it worse.”I didn’t say anything because, well, because you’re one of the best friends I’ve had and while I know that you’re supportive of me being gay, and probably wouldn’t react horribly to this information, I was- I was worried of losing your friendship.” He swallowed, biting back other emotions, other memories. “And I don’t want to lose that or- or ruin it. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know why he apologized at the end of that. He kept staring at his research partner, his friend, hoping for the best. 

“I’ve had a crush on you too,” said Fiddleford, a soft smile creeping on his blushing face. 

“Oh,” said Ford. Then, a smile, and another, much more optimistic, “Oh!”

“Yeah,” said Fiddleford, and he started giggling, Ford joining in a few moments after. They came up for a minute, both relieved, and a fondness that before this soft spring morning was (poorly) hidden.

“So, what do we do now?”

“We kiss?” Ford suggested.

Next thing he knew he had an armful of southern engineer, their lips softly touching. It felt good, it felt right, and it wasn’t until after that he realized that he probably had the worst morning breath in Oregon right then. Fiddleford didn’t seem to mind though, because he was still smiling when they broke apart. Ford started giggling again, realizing something. 

“Sugar isn’t a southern thing, is it?”

Fiddleford laughed in response, pulling his boyfriend in closer.


End file.
